Home sweet home
I grew up in the Middle East, Qatar to be precise. When you look at it on the map, it’s the thumb to Saudi Arabia’s palm/hand. Quite how I managed to retain my northern accent, having left the Lakes at nine years old, is a mystery. During the university summer holidays I would leave the bright lights of Preston to go back to Qatar in order to gain some work experience and, more importantly, money. One summer I was going to cover for a friend of my Mum’s, and John, the boss, said he’d like to meet me beforehand for coffee at a local hotel. The interview went well and John very kindly offered me a lift back home.
We were nattering away, and as we took a right on the round-a-bout near our compound I said, “It’s just right here.”
Nothing. No inclination he’d heard. The right turn was fast approaching.
“Take a right here John.”
He carried on chatting as we flew by the turning. Now I had a bit of a problem on my hands as I didn’t want a) to look stupid in front of my soon-to-be-boss and b) make him feel stupid for not having heard me and the fact we were speeding further away from where we needed to be.
“Actually you’re closer to the office than I thought you were,” said John.
“Mmmm.” I went for non-commital and vague. I tried to work out potential routes where we could go back on ourselves without John realising what we would be doing. Cunning. I was fairly pleased with myself until I realised this meant having to go some distance before I could ask him to turn right. It also dawned on me that I wasn’t terribly familiar with the area we were approaching, and having felt I’d left it a sufficient amount of time before directing him further, I announced, “Take a right here.” He heard me this time. Only this particular right turn happened to be on what resembled a sandy track.
“Really? Oh OK.”
“Yes … it’s …. um … a shortcut.”
We both went quiet.
“Bit bumpy isn’t it?” said a now slightly confused-looking John as we were both being somewhat thrown about in the car.
“Mmmm,” was all I could manage as I frantically tried to think of where the heck this track would bring us out. Thankfully we emerged on the Family Food Road (official road names were never used, landmarks took their place) and I immediately knew where we were. The only problem now was if I directed him back to our house, it would be glaringly obvious we’d simply driven in a big circle and I’d wasted twenty minutes of his time. Quickly remembering a friend had lived in one of the villas opposite the Family Food Centre, I decided the perfect thing would be for him to drop me off there. Cunning.
As we turned into the road I realised that I’d have pick a villa with no car outside as you could clearly see the front door from the road. John was the type of man who ignored protestations of, “Here’s fine, seriously, I can just walk around the corner.” Trust me, I tried. So as we drove along, I picked the first villa I felt would have no one home. Perfect.
Only I hadn’t had a chance to see my chosen villa properly. As I got out of the car and walked up to the front door, I tried to dodge the overgrown weeds, the fallen palm tree leaves and ignore the frankly derelict look of the villa I’d chosen as “home.” Surely John would drive off now. But John was the type of the man who ignored protestations of, “Honestly go, don’t hang around.” Trust me I tried.
I was getting desperate now, and all that was left for me to do was pretend to dig around in my bag for a set of keys that didn’t exist which would open a door to a home I’d never been inside or belonged to. I played up the girl-who-has-too-many-things-in-her-bag jokey grimace as John watched. He wasn’t leaving until he saw me safely inside that villa. He would be waiting a long time. I was backed into a corner, a rather dusty, dirty and uninhabitable corner at that. I walked back to his car to explain that I’d forgotten my keys, but Mum would be home shortly so I’d go and see a neighbour in the interim as I didn’t want to take up any more of his time. Thankfully he relented, and as he drove off I kept up the pretence of popping in to one of the neighbouring villas hoping no one was home so I could hide until I knew he wouldn’t be able to see me in the rear view mirror.
To say I felt like an idiot was an understatement. I made my way to the Family Food Centre as a cool drink was definitely in order for the fairly short journey home on foot. As I was preparing to leave, I heard my Dad’s voice shouting me.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were at the Ramada?”
“Well Dad, it’s funny you should say that. Let me tell you on the drive home.”
A few weeks later, when I felt enough time had passed and fed up of feeling sick with the fear he’d offer to give me a lift home after work each day, I casually dropped into conversation my parents were moving house. What he never knew and still to this day doesn’t know was that they’d never left.
It's me, Raw 